Fair Game
by How It Really Ends
Summary: <html><head></head>Joe and Anne get help from an unexpected quarter. Begins after the Rome press conference.</html>
1. Chapter 1  Fallout

Chapter 1 - Fallout

It was nearly dawn when Joe got up from his desk and walked over to his window. He'd spent most of the night trying to write the story about Anne's press conference the previous day. A couple of hours from his deadline, he was staring at a blank page in the typewriter. It was a familiar scenario, but the cause before had always been his own lack of preparation and the resulting need to rush an assignment for Hennessey at the last minute. This time, he had an abundance of information and no way to use it. He couldn't say that she was smart and passionate and good in a bar fight, or that she loved her country so much that she was willing to embrace a life she hated. He definitely couldn't tell the world she had charmed him out of the life he'd lived so thoughtlessly for thirty-seven years, only to leave him with nothing. But saying anything else felt like a lie, and he didn't want to lie anymore.

The grief was twisting in his throat again, making it difficult to swallow. Wishing he had something stronger to drink, he poured himself a glass of wine and sipped it slowly, looking out over the city.

It was too soon to comprehend Anne's absence. He felt she was still there with him in the tiny apartment, not in a space he could reach, but at the edge of his five senses. It was this certainty that had kept him awake the past two nights. He was sure that if he kept looking, kept waiting, she would reveal herself. And he was equally sure that if he went to sleep she would leave for good. He couldn't allow that to happen because it would force him to face the loss of something he never knew he wanted – a life with her; a life of cooking, dancing, poetry disputes – time enough to see her in plenty of his pajamas…and out of them.

_She wanted to stay...she wanted me. _Whatever joy he might have felt at the realization had long since evaporated in the face of the anguish he'd caused her. He'd set out to make her love him and had succeeded well enough to make them both miserable. _If it were just me losing her, I could handle it, _he thought. _I'd always miss her but I could live with it if I knew she was happy…_

There had to be a way for her, even if there wasn't one for him. In time her attachment to him would lessen. At the press conference, she had spoken of Rome almost as if it were already in her past. That was where he belonged; it would be selfish of him to expect otherwise. She would find some contentment in knowing she made the choice to put others ahead of herself, however difficult that choice might have been at first. She could find someone else who'd love her and whom she could love in return…

_Someone else._

Joe leaned back against the wall as the thought cut mercilessly into him. He'd been sure nothing could hurt more than watching her walk out of the Embassy hall. But like all his other feelings from the past two days, this one caught him entirely unaware. As the blade settled in his heart, he realized it was the only right thing to wish for. _But not now – not yet,_ he thought. _She can stay a little longer. She was happy with me._

He thought he knew the girl who evinced such joy in doing the things everyone else took for granted, the one who flirted unashamedly with him as they danced. But the press conference was a revelation. He now understood the reason for what the rest of the world was just beginning to notice. Her strength of character perfectly suited her to the position she held – now as a princess and eventually as a queen. And though he hated the result of her decision, he couldn't help admiring the courage with which she chose it.

_She did her job, _he thought. _She'd want me to do the same. _He drained his glass and sat down in front of the typewriter.

* * *

><p>Hennessey finished reading and looked up at Joe. "This is it? This is all you got?"<p>

"That's all there was to get."

"It's fluff."

"Come on. This was a photo op with a few softball questions thrown in."

"I take it you have no great opinion of Her Highness's intelligence."

Joe shrugged, silently asking Anne's forgiveness. "Seeing as I've never met her, I have no opinion at all."

"Or maybe that's just sour grapes about the story you didn't get. Why didn't you follow up on those rumors I told you about? You could've gotten something off the record from my Embassy source."

Joe knew he'd taken a risk by not delving into the rumors behind Anne's "illness," but it was a calculated decision. Irving had already indicated he would respect Joe's silence. The Secret Service agents would be strictly forbidden from talking. Joe had considered that while other reporters with Embassy connections might chase the story, no one could put all the facts together without talking to the one person who'd been with Anne the whole time.

"Like I told you, I don't believe in chasing every two-bit rumor I hear."

Hennessey snorted. "If you wanted to grow a conscience, you picked the wrong line of work."

"I'm not a gossip reporter. You wanted the facts; here they are."

At this, Hennessey stood up and shoved a finger in Joe's face. "Understand this: if someone else breaks the story of the Princess's little jailbust, it's your neck."

"Got it. Look, Mr. Hennessey-"

"What?"

"I'd like a few days off. I've got some vacation time coming."

"Fine. But let me offer you a little advice."

On his way out of the room, Joe froze.

"Given that you now owe me $1,000, I suggest you consider hanging on to some of your money instead of using your vacation time to gamble it away."

Joe turned to face Hennessey's glare. "You'll get every dime of what's coming to you." _And I might just get a plane ticket out of here,_ he thought. He opened the door and walked out, letting it slam shut behind him.

* * *

><p>"Your Highness, I believe we may consider ourselves safe."<p>

Anne looked up from the press questions she was studying and waited for the Countess to continue.

"We've been monitoring all the newspaper coverage of your visit to Rome to ensure nothing…unsavory…was leaked to the media."

Anne's eyes narrowed slightly. "I should be surprised if it were," she replied, "since nothing unsavory happened."

The Countess faltered for a moment, not yet accustomed to Anne's newly authoritative demeanor. "Of course, ma'am. No one meant to imply otherwise. But rumors do get abroad, and so we cannot be too careful…" She waited for some sign of agreement, but none was forthcoming.

"It appears, however, that the press coverage is uniformly positive. The articles all follow a line similar to this one." She held out the clipping to Anne, who inhaled softly when she saw its byline.

"I would like to read this," she said, reaching for the paper.

"Your Highness?"

Anne quickly realized her mistake. "And the others too."

"Certainly. I'll fetch them for you." The Countess left Anne's suite, wondering at her young charge. Anne had never cared before for what the press thought of her; in fact, she made it a point never to read news items about herself. _Perhaps she's beginning to embrace the prospect of being Queen one day_, the Countess thought, _and to understand that the world's opinion matters._

But it wasn't world opinion that held Anne's attention as she perused the article:

_**Princess Anne Concludes Rome Visit With Press Conference **__by Joe Bradley, American News Service_

**ROME, June 12** – Her Royal Highness, the Princess Anne of Britain, met with reporters yesterday at the British Embassy as she prepared to leave Rome for Athens, Greece. Her Highness indicated she had recovered fully from the illness which struck her late Thursday evening and led to the cancellation of all her public appearances on Friday.

Responding to preselected questions on the topics of a possible European federation and friendship among nations, the Princess indicated her support for closer cooperation in Europe and expressed optimism at the prospect of improved international relations. She also named Rome as her favorite of the European cities she had visited. Following the question-and-answer session the Princess shook hands with members of the international press corps, greeting several in their native languages.

Her Highness began a three-day visit to Athens yesterday and plans to return home this Wednesday.

Trying to push down an unaccountable but growing disappointment, Anne re-read the item as the words in front of her gradually blurred away. She knew she should be thankful for such a passionless rendering; he had kept his unspoken promise and respected her wishes. But she hadn't anticipated the pain of seeing his name next to such a cold description of her. It seemed unjust to both of them somehow – unfair that no one but the two of them should know how much they'd given up.

Glad to be relieved of the necessity to impress him, she hadn't tried once. She had noticed that, far from seeming inconvenienced, he took more genuine pleasure in observing her happiness and encouraging her enthusiasm as the day progressed. In doing so, he had helped her realize aspects of herself that she didn't know existed – ones she wasn't sure would ever exist again. She'd seen in his eyes that despite his initial deceit, he loved her for the person she was behind the money and titles – and that keeping his silence was costing him far more than any amount of money he'd given up in the exchange.

Hearing the Countess approach, she quickly concealed the tear-stained piece of paper, wiped her eyes, and resumed her press assignment.

"Here are the other clippings, Your Highness."

"Thank you," said Anne without looking up. "Please leave them on the table there."

Sensing a peremptory dismissal, the Countess hesitated. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but we must review the questions and answers for tomorrow's press conference – "

"I shall prepare on my own, thank you, Countess. You have my permission to withdraw."

Had Anne been able to make eye contact, she would have seen an alarmed expression pass over the Countess's face at her words. The Princess had never prepared for a press conference without the help of her minders – and after the propensity she'd lately displayed for departing from their carefully prepared script, no one was very willing to let her try. But the Countess, recognizing again the woman who gave orders rather than the girl who asked permission, knew better than to ask questions. She curtseyed and left the room.

* * *

><p>The bed was comfortable enough, but she was turned the wrong way – backwards or something. She had a vague memory of an elevator – perhaps she'd fallen asleep in it. But why would an elevator have a bed? And shouldn't the elevator be moving, taking her somewhere?<p>

She frowned and moved her head slowly to the side, trying to grasp the understanding that eluded her. She opened her eyes just a little and tried to focus them. Then she saw him. He was standing at the other end of the bed, smiling as he watched her wake up. She remembered where she had seen him before – he put her in a very small car and then they danced round the steps together. He had seemed frustrated with her; he had even corrected her poetic attribution as though he had every right to do so. _I have to tell him he was wrong, _she thought.

But seeing the enjoyment on his face as he watched her, she decided it could wait. His smile was so lovely, and he had found her an elevator bed. She was safe. She could go back to sleep now.

Anne opened her eyes, sat up, and looked around the darkened room, empty save for her. She wondered again why the dream broke off at the happiest, cruelest point. It would have been so much more fitting a transition to reality if she had dreamed of sobbing in Joe's arms like a terrified child at the thought of losing him, of a wordless goodbye at the Embassy, of turning back to look at him one last time – past the corner, so he wouldn't know – and seeing he was still there, miles distant from her, after everyone else had left.

After watching him turn and walk out alone, she had barely been able to plead a headache and escape to her suite before the tears overtook her. Tonight there were none. She was glad for it, because the forced exhaustion of crying meant many more opportunities to dream and be disappointed. She debated for a moment whether to look at the pictures she'd hidden under her mattress, but decided against it. They told only one side of the story – hers – and that no longer interested her. She thought instead about the stories that would never be told – how willingly she had accepted the invitation in Joe's eyes when he spoke of her wearing his clothes, how expertly he had used that gorgeous mouth of his, how easily she had pictured the next fifty years with him, living them all at once in a split second, just as she knew he was.

* * *

><p>Down the hall from her suite of rooms the next morning, Anne could hear the Ambassador pacing back and forth. Someone would come for her soon, she knew. She kept her post at the floor-to-ceiling window as she awaited the summons. Outside were the buildings of an ancient city, but not the ones she wanted to see.<p>

"Where is she?" she heard him ask. "It's almost time."

"Just a moment, Your Excellency." She heard the Countess's quick steps approaching, followed by a knock on the door.

"You may enter."

The Countess opened the door and curtseyed.

"We're ready for you, my dear."

_I am not your dear,_ Anne thought. _I saw very clearly the night I came back how little you care for me and how much for pleasing my mother and father. _She turned around.

"Thank you."

As the two of them walked to the great hall, the Countess said, "Your Highness, if I might suggest – if you should wish to greet the members of the press here, as you did in Rome, I think it would be very well received."

_What would be the point? He won't be there. _"Perhaps I will."

Hearing herself announced, she rounded the corner and walked slowly into the room, keeping her eyes focused on a distant point just above the reporters' heads. She didn't want confirmation of his absence until it was unavoidable.

"Your Highness, how have you enjoyed your visit here?"

Anne forced her eyes slightly downward to look at the speaker, a female reporter in the middle of the crowd, and smiled.

"Very much, thank you. Athens is a lovely city."

"Will Your Highness be glad to return home after such a long journey?"

Willing herself not to look at anyone else, Anne brought her gaze to the Greek-accented male reporter in the front row. "I always miss my family and my homeland when I travel, but I count it a privilege to see so many beautiful places and learn about people and cultures different from my own."

"What does Your Highness believe can be done to improve trade and diplomatic relations between nations?" This woman was at the opposite end of the front row.

There was no help for it. She'd have to look for him now. She let her eyes travel slowly along the line as she gave her answer.

"I believe the most important thing we can do is to begin with our commonalities, not our differences."

He wasn't there. She felt her face growing warm as she stood up for the photographers. It was one thing to look for him – she might indulge that personal weakness with impunity. But until that moment, she hadn't realized that some part of her actually expected to see him.

When the flashbulbs stopped, she turned her head and nodded slightly to the Ambassador. Taking the cue, he stepped forward.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. This concludes the conference."

As they left the hall, Anne could feel the Countess's eyes on her face. She realized she had probably disappointed everyone by not greeting the reporters personally. _But they know nothing of disappointment,_ she thought as she returned the Countess's gaze. _Besides, __I may save one thing for him if I like._


	2. Chapter 2 Discovery

(Thanks to **DarkWinter999** and **iloveromance** for their Chapter 1 beta assistance and encouragement.)

Mario Delani hummed to himself as he swept the floor of the barber shop. It was almost time to close up, and as he glanced at the clock on the wall he calculated how long it would be before he could meet his friends at the barge by St. Angelo's. He had gone there every night hoping for another dance with the beautiful foreign girl whose hair he had cut, but she hadn't come back. He wished he'd thought to ask her what her name was.

Just then the shop's doorbell jingled, announcing a visitor. Mario turned around, trying to conceal his annoyance, and saw a young man standing in the doorway. He had tousled hair and wore glasses and unkempt, ill-fitting clothes. As Mario stepped forward to greet him, the man smiled and spoke.

"Hi. Any chance I could get a haircut?"

Mario guessed by his accent that he was American. He hesitated, not wanting to offend a potential customer, and then answered him in halting English.

"I sorry, sir, but we almost closing. You come back tomorrow morning, yes?"

The man sighed. "Look, I just got into town and I was hoping to get cleaned up so I could go out tonight. I'll never pick up girls looking like this." He ran a hand through his hair and gestured to his shabby clothes.

Mario considered the stranger's disheveled appearance and relented. "Yes, okay, you sit here," he said, indicating a nearby chair.

The man smiled gratefully and sat down. "Thanks a million. By the way, I'm Jim."

"I Mario Delani." He placed an apron around Jim's neck. "How much you want me to cut?"

"Oh, you know, just neaten it up for me. Don't want the ladies thinking I'm a bum."

Mario smiled and began cutting. "Where you going tonight?"

"Dunno yet, but being new in town I'm open to suggestions. Know of any good places to get a drink and a dance with a pretty girl?" He did not miss the excitement that came over Mario's face as he asked the question.

"Oh, yes. You should go to St. Angelo's on river. There is dancing on barge. Lots of girls. I go myself most nights."

At this, Jim nodded, seeming to understand. "You must've been getting ready to head over there when I came in." Seeing Mario's answering nod, he continued, "Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while. So are you meeting someone special?"

Mario's face fell slightly. "Well, I hope to find girl I been looking for. She prettiest girl I ever saw, but she no come back since last week."

"That's rotten luck. What's her name?"

"I never ask her – I forget. She come into the shop one day last week, want me to cut her hair. I hate to do it – she have such beautiful long, dark hair, but she want it all off, so I cut very short. Then I ask her to meet me at St. Angelo's. At first she say no, but then that night I see her there with her friend, so I ask her to dance." Mario was so engrossed in his work and in the details of his story that he didn't notice Jim's eyes fixed on his face in the mirror, watching him intently as he spoke.

"Is her friend as cute as she is?"

Mario frowned for a moment, puzzled, and then laughed. "Oh, no – her friend not girl. He a man – American, I think."

Jim considered this for a moment. "Too bad. Well, maybe I'll run into him if I go over tonight. Always nice to meet a fellow Yank in a foreign city."

Mario shook his head doubtfully. "I not sure you see Mr. Bradley tonight. He no come back either."

"Really? Guess maybe they were traveling together or something."

"Maybe so. I think they run away together after the fight."

"There was a fight? I thought this was a respectable joint." Jim's face expressed surprise and amusement.

"Yes, big fight. I dancing with the beautiful girl, a man ask if he can cut in, so I go over to bar for drink. Few minutes later I see her friend run over to her and pull the man away. She trying to get away from the man, but bunch of other men come, try to take her."

"Take her? Take her where?"

"I don't know. But her friend, he keep fighting, so then some of us go to help him. Police come, lots of people get in trouble."

"But not you?"

"No, not me." Jim couldn't help but smile at the note of pride in Mario's voice. "The police, they arrest the men, the ones who try to take the girl."

"So the girl and her friend just vanished into thin air?"

Mario shrugged. "I look for her afterward, but I no see her or Mr. Bradley after that."

Jim silently traced Mario's face for signs of dishonesty. Seeing none, he said, "You're a good man for helping her out. Maybe someday she'll be back to thank you for it."

"Oh, I hope so." He gave Jim's hair a final snip. "Is finished. You like?"

Jim removed the apron, stood up, and examined his reflection. "Yes, I do like it." He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and handed them to Mario. "Thanks for keeping the place open for me."

Mario's eyes widened at the significant overpayment Jim had given him. "Is too much – let me get your change – " Jim cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Keep it. You've been a huge help. Maybe I'll see you down at St. Angelo's tonight, yeah?"

Mario smiled and raised a hand in farewell as Jim headed for the door. "Yes, I see you later. Good night."

Reaching the sidewalk, Jim walked until he was out of sight of the barber shop, then leaned against a building and pulled a notepad and pencil from his pocket. He noted the date and time, Mario's name, and the details of their conversation, circling the words "Bradley" and "American."

* * *

><p>An hour later, a freshly-showered, well-groomed young man carrying a manila folder walked up the steps of the British embassy in Rome. Approaching one of the guards, he said, "Good evening. I have an appointment with His Excellency." Gone were the glasses, unkempt clothes, and Yankee-speak. In their place were a British accent and an expensive tailored suit.<p>

The guard nodded. "Right this way, Mr. James." He led him down the hall, around a corner, and into a suite of offices that was cordoned off from public access, greeting another guard on the way. He walked over to a glass-windowed door marked with the words "His Excellency, the British Ambassador" and opened it.

"Good evening, Miss White," he said to the secretary seated behind the large desk. "I have Mr. James here to see His Excellency."

The secretary looked up. "Thank you." The guard nodded and left.

She turned to Mr. James. "He asked me to send you in as soon as you arrived." She indicated an office door slightly ajar behind her.

Mr. James walked in and made a slight bow. "Your Excellency."

The Ambassador stood and gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Mr. James, this is quick work. What have you discovered?"

After shutting the door, James took the offered seat and opened his folder. "One of the agents told me he thought the man he saw dancing with the Princess was also the one who cut her hair. I got lucky and found him in the first barbershop I tried. His name is – " – he glanced at his notes – " – Mario Delani."

"What does he know? Is he a concern to us?"

James resumed his reading. "He said the 'beautiful girl,' as he calls her, came into his shop and asked him to cut off all her hair, which he did before inviting her to St. Angelo's. He said right after they danced, some men tried to take her away and a fight broke out when her friend intervened. Delani saw the fight, tried to lend a hand, saw the men get arrested. Says he doesn't know what happened to the girl after that; she just disappeared, along with her friend. He never asked her name and hasn't seen her since." He looked up from his notes. "He's telling the truth. I don't think we need to worry about him."

"And what of her friend?" the Ambassador asked.

"An American man named Bradley. I haven't had a chance to look for him yet."

The Ambassador was silent for a moment, thinking. "Bradley…that name is familiar…wait a moment…"

He drew a small set of keys from his breast pocket and searched them until he found the one he needed. With it he unlocked one of his small desk drawers, pulled out an envelope, and began flipping through the scraps of paper in it. A moment later, his hand froze. He looked up at James with an expression of alarm.

"You're certain you have no other information on this Mr. Bradley?"

"Not yet, but I will. What did you find?"

The Ambassador slowly withdrew the newspaper clipping he had found and held it out to James. It was captioned _**Princess Anne Concludes Rome Visit with Press Conference **__by Joe Bradley, American News Service_.

James took the clipping and skimmed it. It was worse news than he was expecting, but experience had taught him to wait until its truth was proven.

"There may be another explanation. He may not even be the same Bradley."

"If you find out that he is not, I shall be very glad to hear it. But if he is…" The thought hung unfinished as both men contemplated the possibilities. Then James stood up.

"I understand. With your leave I'll begin my search tonight, Your Excellency."

The Ambassador nodded. "Thank you. I now have the pleasant duty of sending a cable to His Majesty."

James bowed again and left the room, grateful to realize that of the two of them, he had the far easier task.

* * *

><p>Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed Chapter 1! I cannot express how happy your comments made me. If you have an opinion on this (admittedly short) chapter, feel free to hit me with it.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3 Decisions

DISCLAIMER: I don't own it and I'm not making money off of it.

Chapter 3 – Decisions

Joe found the reality of free time couldn't live up to its prospect. After meeting with Hennessey, he went back to his apartment and collapsed on his bed. He told himself he would just take a short nap, but the effect of two sleepless nights quickly overpowered him. He awoke abruptly the next morning, struggling against the bewildering dread that darkened his mind. Recalling the events of the past few days, he realized its source. Not only was Anne gone, the imprint she'd left behind was fading. Every hour he slept put more distance between them.

As he lay there staring at the ceiling, he remembered watching her wake up in his bed, her contented smile illuminating the dreary apartment. She'd made it so easy for him to play the nice guy. He wondered if she'd started her day yet, if she got out of bed just as usual or stopped to remember him as he was remembering her. Most of all, he wondered if she missed being in his bed as much as he missed having her in it. He imagined seeing that smile every morning, which led to more tempting speculations he knew he couldn't afford to indulge. Forcing his thoughts into a safer direction, he considered what to do with the day.

The desire to stay there, to salvage whatever might be left of her presence, made the small, stuffy room seem almost welcoming. But he sensed that if he didn't get out now, he might not want to leave at all. He sat up on the side of the bed, head in his hands, his resolve already weakening. _She does this every day of her life,_ he told himself, _whether she wants to or not._ It was enough to get him showered, dressed, and out the door.

He took to the streets, wandering through a strange netherworld between his previous life and a future he had no idea how to navigate. He found himself retracing his steps to the places he and Anne had visited. She became so real in his thoughts that when he recalled his surroundings, he was startled to find she wasn't there. Entranced by the memories, he sought them out until he couldn't walk anymore – along with a few well-timed drinks to manage the pain.

Late that night when he fell exhausted into a chair at Rocca's, the waiter who'd seen him earlier that day knew what to bring. As he placed the whiskey glass on the table, Joe took a long swig and forced himself to admit what he already knew: that she'd left him alone and all the drunken hallucinations in the world wouldn't bring her back. He drained the glass, signaled the waiter for another, and looked out at the sidewalks around the café. Even at this hour, they were crowded with sociable, happy-looking people. He watched them with growing contempt, wondering why none of them noticed that the city had turned into a wasteland.

Just then, the unknown course charted itself: He could leave. He could escape it all and start over somewhere blessedly free of reminders. He'd complained for years about wanting to get out of Rome, but he'd never had a reason painful enough to act upon. Now the hazy half-wishes in his mind sharpened of their own accord into plans so clear that he wondered why he couldn't see them before. Even if he couldn't forget her, at least he could get away from everywhere she seemed to be but wasn't.

"Joe! Where have you been?"

Joe looked up and saw Irving coming over to his table, a wide smile on his face. He smiled briefly in return and took a sip of the drink the waiter had just brought. As he did so, Irving stopped and peered closely at his friend, surprised at the change in Joe's appearance. His clothes were rumpled and his eyes, bloodshot and shadowed by dark circles, belied the smile. As Joe reluctantly returned his friend's searching look, Irving understood. He glanced at the whiskey glass as Joe set it back on the table. _No way that's the first one,_ he thought.

"How about some coffee?"

Joe hesitated. He didn't want his friend's pity, nor did he want to owe him any more money. Correctly sensing the latter, Irving raised his hand and said, "It's on me."

Still in no mood for company, Joe was about to decline when he remembered he had a question to ask Irving. He nodded his assent and gestured to the chair across from him. As Irving sat down and called the waiter back, Joe considered what to say. He felt Irving knew far too much already.

Seeing Joe's reluctance to speak, Irving started the conversation. "I'm glad I ran into you. I just came by to meet Carolina for a late drink – "

"What happened to Francesca?"

Trying to conceal his worry at the roughness in Joe's voice, Irving smiled and waved his hand.

"Last week's news…"

"I don't know how you do it, Irving." Preoccupied with tracing lines in the condensation on his glass, Joe missed Irving's disbelieving look. _What do you mean, how I do it? _Irving thought. _You were doing it too, right up until last week._

The waiter brought the coffee and set it in front of Joe. He sipped it and looked up. "I, uh, need to ask you a favor."

"Sure. After you tell me why you missed the game last night."

_What game? _Joe thought. Then it hit him. For the first time during his three years in Rome he'd completely forgotten about a poker game. He made a halfhearted attempt to conceal the fact from Irving, speaking the first excuse that came into his mind.

"I'm a little short on cash right now…"

"Never stopped you before," Irving countered.

"Yeah, I guess not." Too drained to come up with any more excuses, Joe decided he'd settle for a half-truth instead. "I skipped it."

"You skipped a poker game."

"Yeah, I - "

"What the hell, Joe? Cleaning you out is the easiest money I make all week."

Joe smiled in spite of himself. "Sorry about that." Irving waited for more but Joe, who had a story for everything, was quiet.

"Guess you've been kind of…preoccupied…lately." Irving's voice was cautious.

"Yeah."

"Not for nothing, but…maybe that stuff would help. Getting back into a routine – " He stopped as he caught the warning look on his friend's face.

"No." Joe hadn't intended to speak so forcefully. But how could he explain that there was no routine left – that he didn't want his old life, even if he could get it back? "I'm going home." As he spoke he looked again at the city streets, wondering how long he had left.

"Good idea," Irving said, nodding. "Dry out, sleep it off…you want me to walk you?"

"That'll be a pretty long walk."

"Nah, your place is just – " Irving's mouth dropped open as he caught Joe's meaning. "You're going back to New York." Joe nodded.

Irving still wasn't sure he'd heard Joe correctly. "Never thought you'd actually do it."

"Can't say I blame you."

"Do you really think this is the best time to decide - "

"Yep."

"When?"

"As soon as I can. That's why I wanted to ask you a favor," Joe said. "I was hoping you could give me a little more time to pay back the fifty I owe you. I've got some other debts to square."

Irving rolled his eyes. "Couldn't possibly be another salary advance, could it?" Joe focused his gaze on his coffee cup, hoping his friend would take the hint.

"Hang on," Irving said as he remembered something. "Hennessey said on Saturday that you owed him $500, right after you told him…oh." He leaned forward, trying to catch Joe's eye. "You bet him, didn't you? You bet him you could get the story you actually got and told him you didn't get."

Joe glanced up at Irving and nodded, silently cursing his friend for his nosiness. Irving's eyes widened and he sat back in his seat, staring at Joe as though seeing him for the first time. "It wasn't enough that you spiked a $5,000 story? You had to go half a grand in the hole?"

Joe fixed him with a disgusted glare. "Yeah. Too bad I lost all that money." He hated hearing Anne described as a commodity, but he hated even more the reminder that he'd once thought of her that way himself.

_He's a goner, _Irving thought. _It's even worse than I figured._ "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it like that."

"This is not her fault."

"I know." They both fell silent, Joe sorting through his regrets and Irving pondering the change in his friend. Finally Joe spoke.

"Anyway, I won't be around for a while. I'll be working a lot of overtime, saving up so I can leave sooner."

Irving nodded. "That's good thinking." He watched Joe for a moment before he spoke. "Listen, don't worry about the $50 right now. Just…pay me back before you leave the country."

Joe nodded his agreement. "Thanks for the coffee." He paid for his other two drinks and was about to leave when Irving stopped him.

"One more thing, Joe…"

Joe turned and waited, watching as Irving struggled for the words.

"You might want to, uh, go easy on the…" Irving indicated the empty whiskey glass on the table.

Joe's eyes fell to the glass and then met Irving's worried gaze. _But I don't want to,_ he thought. _Not yet._

"See you later, Irving." He walked away, unaware of the patron a few tables away who was taking notes on their conversation in between bites of spaghetti.

* * *

><p>Joe Bradley was troubled; of that much James was certain. Beyond that, he had no idea how to piece together everything he'd seen and heard today. He pushed aside his plate and flipped through his notes again, hoping to make sense of them before he had to report back to the Ambassador.<p>

After their previous meeting James spoke with one of his local contacts, who got him Joe's address and a copy of his photo press credential. Later that night, he showed Joe's picture to the ticket taker at St. Angelo's, who confirmed that Joe came there with a young woman Friday night and bought two tickets. Early the next morning, James began his vigil in an alley near Joe's apartment building.

He didn't have to wait long. A couple of hours later, Joe left the building and set off on what James could only describe as an utterly directionless trek through the city. Following at a distance, James watched as Joe lingered in front of places like the Colosseum and the Wishing Wall, oblivious to the city noise around him. James saw too that despite a valiant effort, Joe couldn't drink enough to still the restlessness that drove him from one place to the next.

James strongly suspected that, given its price and what he knew concerning Joe's whereabouts on Friday, the story his friend referred to was in fact about the princess. But no reporter in his right mind would forfeit an exclusive like this one, which put James squarely back at the beginning. _What does he want?_ James asked himself. And who was the "her" Joe mentioned? If it was Anne, why was he defending her?

He struggled with the questions until a waiter tapped his shoulder to indicate it was closing time. As he nodded and gathered his things, he realized there was no way to scale the brick wall in his thoughts without talking to Joe himself. In the meantime, he'd report on what he had and figure out the remaining steps. But first, he'd pursue a couple of new leads named Irving and Hennessey.

The next afternoon, Miss White knocked on the door of the Ambassador's office and opened it slightly. "Mr. James is here to see you, sir."

"Did we have an appointment?"

"No, sir."

The Ambassador sighed, knowing this couldn't mean good news. "Send him in." She nodded, holding the door ajar for James as he entered and shutting it behind him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Excellency, but I've found him."

"Is he..."

"The reporter who wrote that article is the same man who was at St. Angelo's with Her Highness on Friday."

The Ambassador closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, trying to process the news. "That can't have been an accident." He opened his eyes and looked at James. "What does he plan to do?"

"For the moment, nothing. Apparently he lied to his boss about a story he was working on, saying he didn't get it even though he did. And he deliberately lost a bet over it."

"But he didn't say what it was about?"

"Not specifically, although he did mention a woman."

"Why do you think it had anything to do with Her Highness?"

"The story was worth $5,000."

The Ambassador got up and began to pace the room, becoming increasingly nervous as the implications sunk in. "You said he purposely lost a bet?"

"Yes, and that's on top of the significant debt he already had."

"Is he holding out for more? Planning to shop the story around?"

James frowned as he considered this. It didn't sound quite right to him. Whatever Joe's real disappointment might be, his finances had seemed almost an afterthought. Joe's sarcastic comment about the money he lost made it sound as if he had no interest at all in profiting at Anne's expense. _It's almost as if he's… _At first the thought seemed improbable enough that James was tempted to dismiss it immediately. But he needed to hold all possibilities in reserve until he could start eliminating them. "There's one way to know for certain."

"All right. Offer him $15,000, contingent on his telling us everything he knows and signing a non-disclosure agreement."

James recorded the instruction on his notepad. "There's something else. He was talking to a friend, Irving Radovich…" He paused, unsure how to break the news.

"Yes?"

"He's...a photographer."

The Ambassador stopped pacing and turned to face James. "Evidence?"

"Maybe."

_Damn her_, the Ambassador thought. _Damn her for taking such a selfish risk and putting us all in this position._ For a moment he was hard pressed to keep the treasonous thoughts to himself.

James waited until the Ambassador appeared more composed, then said, "I'm not sure yet if they were working together on this."

"It doesn't matter. The pictures would be damaging enough on their own. They – " Suddenly the Ambassador recalled something from Anne's press conference. He'd been so relieved to have the princess safely back in custody that he hadn't given the incident another thought. "One of the photographers at the press conference gave Her Highness a gift – an envelope of 'commemorative photos,' as he called them."

_The press conference,_ James mused, _during which she personally greeted the press corps – something she's never done before._ "Do you remember his name or what he looked like?"

"Not his name; there were too many people introducing themselves. I think he was short. He might have had a beard."

"Radovich fits that description."

The Ambassador sighed. "Of course he does."

"In the interest of containment, I think an indirect approach would be better here," said James. The Ambassador nodded, wondering as he resumed his pacing whether the situation could end any other way than in disaster.

"I'll see if a search of his apartment and studio turns anything up," James continued, making a note to enlist some local talent for the task. "In the meantime, someone should look at the pictures he gave the Princess. We may have nothing to worry about."

_What a change that would be,_ thought the Ambassador. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

><p>On arriving home from Rocca's Joe set to work, his newly-formed plans lending him much more focus than usual. He rifled through his desk for some assignments that needed outlining and worked steadily on them until well after midnight, temporarily driving Anne from his thoughts. Eager for another reprieve, he decided to pick up more work the next day.<p>

He went back to the office at dinnertime the following evening, hoping to avoid his co-workers and Hennessey. But as he walked over to the secretary's desk to look for the stack of new assignments, his boss glanced up from the file cabinet he was searching and frowned.

"I thought you were on vacation."

_There's a mug I didn't miss, _thought Joe as he turned and saw Hennessey's contemptuous look. "Yeah."

"You didn't have to spoil mine, you know."

"What?"

"My vacation. Or as I call it, any day you're not here."

_Bet your wife feels the same way__,_ Joe thought. But he didn't say it. He knew in losing the bet, he'd lost the privilege of telling Hennessey off. He took several assignments off the top of the stack and walked over to his desk.

"Why'd you take all those?"

"Just trying to get ahead on a few things." Joe sat down and began looking through the pile, wondering when his boss would tire of the game.

A slow smile spread over Hennessey's face. "Aw, I get it. Still pining for your lost princess? Trying to take your mind off your troubles?"

The stack of papers in Joe's hands instantly went still. "Which princess was that?"

"I'm glad to hear you've got some in reserve," said Hennessey, raising an eyebrow. "You'll need to cash 'em all in to square up with me." He leaned over the desk. "She was young, beautiful, naïve – the easiest mark you could hope for. That love angle would've been aces. "

"Yeah," Joe muttered. "Yeah, it would've." Looking up at Hennessey, he wondered how much jail time one good punch would be worth. It was a welcome distraction from the question of who he hated more – his boss or himself.

"And you still find a way to screw it up." Hennessey laughed, shaking his head. "The get that got away. Must've killed you to watch five grand go up in smoke."

Joe sighed. _Get out__,_ he thought._ Just leave me here to be a heartless bastard by myself._

"Guess that smaller paycheck stings a little, huh? Well, I'll leave you to it," Hennessey said as he rose. "The wife's got dinner waiting." His smile was unmistakably smug.

Joe had often wondered how a pit bull like Hennessey could get a woman to say yes. It seemed even more unjust now that the only woman Joe had ever wanted to ask was halfway around the world, never to wear his clothes again. Biting back another sarcastic retort, he reminded himself the end was in sight. His time with Hennessey had an expiration date; he just didn't know yet what that date was. But maybe he could speed things up a little.

"Take a hundred," he said, stopping Hennessey in his tracks.

"What?"

"We agreed on fifty a week. Take a hundred instead."

Hennessey's eyes narrowed as he walked back over to Joe's desk. "A hundred a week? You can't afford that."

"That's not your problem, is it?"

Hennessey glanced at Joe's outstretched hand and then back to his face. There was a hardness in his eyes Hennessey had never seen before.

"All right," he said with a nod. "A hundred it is." He shook Joe's hand and returned to his office, casting one last puzzled look at Joe over his shoulder. Joe ignored it and turned back to his assignments. The more time he focused on his work, the sooner he could tell his boss where to put his insults once and for all.

A few hours later, Joe stood up and stretched, rubbing his neck to try to work out the kinks. He'd gotten a lot of work done - especially since Hennessey had finally gone home - but he was finding it progressively harder to keep his eyes open. As he walked over to the coffee pot behind the secretary's desk, he caught sight of a familiar name in one of the wire reports on the teletype. _Princess Anne Bids Farewell to Athens, Concludes European Tour,_ the headline read. The report briefly recounted Anne's time in Athens and her press conference there.

Joe tore off the paper and stared at it. _She's going home. _For a moment the thought hung suspended in his mind, refusing to let him dismiss it. She'd already walked out on him. Why did it matter where she went after that? Then the reasons pinned him to the spot, each stripping a section from the remainder of his heart. As long as she was away from home, he could keep a part of her for himself. He could daydream about another chance encounter. And despite the revelation he'd tried to drown with whiskey the day before, he could harbor some hope that she'd change her mind and come back.

He shook his head, frustrated with himself, wishing he could advance time to the point – six months from now? A year? Two? – when he'd accepted the loss and figured out how to live some semblance of a normal life. Maybe that time would come sooner for Anne. _It__'ll be good for her__ to be back home__,_he thought_._ _She can start moving on._ Still he lingered, gazing absently at the paper in his hand and wondering how soon she'd forget him. He finally forced himself to lay the paper back on the desk and get his coffee. But a moment later he picked it up again for another read, this time from a different view.

_What a waste,_ he thought as he re-read the section on the press conference. The questions were similar to those she answered in Rome – diplomatic and meaningless. She was intelligent, articulate, and well-educated. He was sure she could handle tougher material. So why didn't anyone ask? Remembering the careful choreography of the Rome press conference, he thought he knew the answer. Reporters probably had to get questions approved ahead of time so she could memorize her responses. He'd seen it before with public figures, and he knew most of them couldn't improvise as well as she did. He suspected she might even welcome the challenge.

He began running through a list of possible topics and composing questions in his mind. Before he realized it, he'd conjured an entire conversation between himself and Anne. But when one of the questions became "Why is Rome your favorite city?" he reminded himself that he wouldn't have the chance to ask. She'd made her decision clear and he wanted to respect it as far as he could. He was a little less certain, however, on the unlikely but troubling possibility of being assigned again to one of her public events. _With my luck__,__ it__'ll__ probably be her wedding__,_ he thought. What if her feelings had changed? What if they hadn't? He didn't know which would be worse and he had no desire to find out. In any case, he couldn't stand the thought of her seeing in his eyes that he'd never gotten over her. _I won't do it,_ he decided. _Better to quit than to have her pity me._ At that thought, he realized that coffee wasn't the drink he needed.

Later that night, when Joe was halfway through his whiskey – which one, he couldn't remember – he heard someone take a seat beside him at the bar and order a glass of ice water. He glanced at his neighbor, hoping it wasn't anyone he knew. Satisfied the man was a stranger, he turned back to his drink.

"Hello, Mr. Bradley."

_Damn it_. "Do I know you?" Joe asked without looking up.

_Perfect,_ thought James. _He's halfway sauced already._ "You can call me James." Joe turned to get a better look and shook the hand James had extended. "I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time."

"Guess you've already taken 'em."

"I'm sorry. I'll be brief. It's about one of your stories."

"Which one?"

"One you haven't written yet."

Joe cast a sidelong glance at James, curious how he would know about an unpublished story. "If I didn't write it, I can't comment on it."

"I was hoping you could make an exception in this case."

Joe turned to see James holding out a newspaper clipping. He took it without thinking, his grip tightening on the paper when he saw what it was. _Anne… _Panic shot through him, bringing with it a surge of adrenaline that swiftly burned away the fog of alcohol and grief clouding his mind. How much did they know? Was she in trouble? Had James found the pictures? Was he trying to blackmail her? The questions raced through his brain, almost too fast for him to comprehend them, until one overshadowed the rest: Was it too late? The thought of her exposed and humiliated, forced to explain herself to the world, momentarily stole the breath from his lungs.

Cursing himself for getting caught off guard, he set his drink on the counter and studied the image, trying to buy himself some time. Even as he quickly ran through his strategic options – denial, pretended ignorance, silence – he couldn't help noticing something about the picture. The severe, unsmiling young woman who looked up at him from the photo seemed nothing like the girl whose laugh he'd found impossible to resist. _They have her all wrong,_ he thought. _They probably can't even imagine her laughing._ He thought of the last time he heard her laugh, right before he kissed her. The memory of their shared happiness brought calm and focus to his jumbled thoughts, along with the soul-deep knowledge that protecting her was worth any price he could pay. He laid the picture back on the counter, and when he spoke his voice was steady.

"You're wrong," he said, looking up at James. "I already wrote this one. It ran a few days ago."

"You mean your report on Her Highness's press conference last Saturday?"

"That's it. You need a copy?"

"I have one, thank you. And – if you'll forgive me – I thought it a little…short on the facts."

_What did Anne think of it?_ Joe wondered. He hoped for her sake that she hadn't seen it. He knew she'd understand his coldness, but it wasn't how he wanted her to remember him. He was quiet as he pretended to think over James's criticism.

"Well, you're welcome to take a crack at her next press conference," he said with a smile. "You'd probably get along with my editor better than I do."

"I think I would," James agreed. "Especially if I told him you were with the Princess last Friday." He took a sip of water, watching for Joe's reaction.

Joe's amazement was genuine as he stared at James, trying to figure out who had talked to him. "Yeah, that would do it, all right," he said slowly. "That's a hell of a story."

James smiled slightly. "I'd very much like to hear it…if you care to tell it, of course."

_Not a chance__,_ Joe thought. "What do you care?"

"Let's just say I…manage situations."

"For who?" Joe asked, trying not to laugh and wondering whether James had any idea how ridiculous he sounded.

"The royal family."

Joe's smile faded. So Anne wouldn't need to worry about explaining herself to the world, just to a very angry king and queen. The image struck him with the injustice he was powerless to cure. _Why should she have to explain anything?_ _Trading in her freedom isn't penance enough?_ His anger at the thought helped to clarify his approach. _Might as well go all in,_ he decided. There was no need to make James's job any easier.

"And you think I've got the goods on a princess I've never even met?"

"You've…never met her," James echoed, surprised Joe would begin with such an easily disprovable lie.

"Well, I wouldn't really count the press conference," said Joe with a shrug. "Other than that, no."

"My contact tells me otherwise. Says you were with her at St. Angelo's that night."

"She was at St. Angelo's on Friday?" Joe asked, affecting a look of surprise. "I thought she was sick. Isn't that why they rescheduled her press conference?"

"You would know better than I," James countered. "But I'll venture a guess she wasn't too sick when you saw her."

"_If_ I saw her," Joe corrected him. "Maybe your contact mixed her up with someone else."

"That could be, yes," said James, seeming to consider the theory. "Except that my contact says she introduced you to him."

_Delani_. _Should've known that guy couldn't keep his mouth shut,_ Joe thought. His odds were getting worse and his drink more tempting by the minute, so he played the only card he had left. It was a long shot – James must have already accounted for it – but he had to try.

"Unless this girl and your contact are old friends, it sounds to me like you've got a proof problem."

"How so?"

"Let's say just for argument's sake that I was there and someone did introduce me to this contact of yours. How do you know that someone was the Princess?"

"I…" James broke off, unsure what tack Joe was taking. Why was he casting doubt on Anne's involvement?

"If she really was on the lam, I can't imagine she was broadcasting her identity to everyone she met," Joe continued. "And you're probably not flashing her picture all over town, either. So if she's not telling and you're not showing…how do you know you got the right girl?"

In the seemingly eternal silence that followed, Joe prayed he'd found a flaw in James's information. Or that James had overlooked some research. Or that he didn't have any witnesses and was just bluffing to see how Joe would react. James, for his part, was still trying to understand why Joe was covering for Anne. _That was a pretty well-reasoned argument for someone who pretends he's never met her,_ he thought. In that light, the idea he'd nearly dismissed yesterday didn't seem ridiculous at all. As suspicion crystallized into fact, he realized he had a new problem on his hands.

"Those are good points," he said. "But I think my theory holds. Would you like to know why?"

_Nope__._ "Sure."

"My contact also told me you and he fought with some men who tried to take the Princess back to the Embassy. Specifically, he said you ran over to her and pulled the first man away, then tried to fight off the others. Then you and the Princess disappeared – at the same time, oddly enough. So you see," James continued, "we already knew she was there and we have some idea of what she did. We just weren't clear as to your involvement, which sounds…extensive." He paused briefly, considering how best to incorporate the lie. "Once they saw your picture, our agents were happy to shed some light on the man who so vigorously defended their future queen."

_I failed her__,_ Joe thought. He'd tried everything he knew and it wasn't going to work. The only thing he could hope for now was to minimize the damage. "Like I said, it's a hell of a story. But if that's the one you want to tell, I'm not sure why you need me."

"I showed your picture to the ticket taker, who told me you bought two tickets. It stands to reason that you left with the person you bought a ticket for. That means you know what the Princess was doing before she arrived and after she disappeared, and that information is very valuable to me." He waited for a response, but Joe was silent. "And there's one more thing I'm curious about: why you don't seem plausibly surprised at anything I've told you."

"Nothing personal," said Joe with a smile. "After twenty years in this business, I don't get surprised by much. You did a great job telling it, though." He gave James a slap on the back and tossed some money on the counter, preparing to leave.

_She surprised you, though, didn't she?_ James thought. "I have an offer for you."

"Can't wait to hear it."

"I want the truth, along with your signature on a confidentiality agreement, in return for $15,000."

_Fifteen thousand?_ _What do they think, that we – _As the image came into his mind, he realized it could be exactly what they thought. The idea unsettled him. "You know," he said, clearing his throat, "for that kind of money I'd make up any story you wanted. But I can't sell what I don't have."

"This is the best offer you're going to get. After all, what's the going rate for a princess? Only about $5,000 on the open market, isn't it?"

_A face that pretty would make an even better target than Hennessey's,_ Joe thought. "I wouldn't know."

"I understand you recently lost something very valuable. More so, by your own estimation, than that $5,000 story you – what was the word your friend used? 'spiked?' – and the $500 penalty you're paying on it now."

_Of course,_ Joe thought as he held James's gaze. _Of course he was spying on me. _

"I've learned quite a lot of interesting things in the past few days," James continued. "Chief among them is that you are a man desperately in need of a new beginning. Once we transact our business, you can pay all your debts and buy a plane ticket home tomorrow. Start your life over. Find a new…something."

Joe had no trouble catching the implication. Someday, he guessed, he'd be able to picture someone else in Anne's place. But it seemed several lifetimes away.

"Good night," he said. "See? We just transacted our business."

James studied Joe's face, blank of all emotion. _Yes, I see,_ he thought as Joe got up and headed toward the door. "My superiors thought you were protecting your story. I think you're protecting her."

On his way out, Joe stopped mid-stride. James walked over to him and spoke in a low voice.

"Whatever she was to you, whatever you had with her…it's over." He handed Joe a card with his contact information. "Ask yourself what's best for you."

But Joe was thinking of a different question. _There's nothing else I can do for her,_ he thought as he stared at the card_. Would it be better for her if I just decline the money and 'fess up? Tell them none of it was her fault?_ Then her voice came back to him, its measured tones speaking an affection he knew he didn't deserve. _"I have faith in relations between people,"_ she'd said, as though he were the only person in the room. The only way he could justify that faith was to leave the choice with her. _No,_ he decided. _It has to be her call._

He nodded and looked up at James. "Okay. I've figured it out." He tore the card in half, handed the pieces to James, and left. _I'm sorry, sweetheart,_ he thought as he began the long walk home. _I'm so sorry__._

* * *

><p>To those of you who have reviewed, favorited, set up story alerts, and checked back for updates - thank you so much! The next chapter is entitled "Consequences." (Meanwhile, back at the castle…)<p> 


	4. Chapter 4 - Homecoming

****_Almost home._

Anne looked out the airplane window at the throngs of people gathered on the tarmac to greet her. There was a heavier press contingent than usual, which she attributed to her supposed illness and recovery. Despite her years of practice, she still hated navigating the crowds and the reporters and the questions. It wouldn't be any more fun today than it usually was, but at least it would delay the reckoning a little longer.

Scanning the brace of reporters and photographers behind the rope, she couldn't help asking her favorite questions of late – _what if he were here? What would I say? What would he think?_ What would it be like, she wondered, to walk away from the crowds knowing he was waiting for her? To have a real conversation with him in public, one she didn't have to encode? She became so lost in the daydreams that she didn't hear the Countess calling her name. She started at the careful touch on her arm and turned around. "What?"

"Are you ready, Your Highness?"

"Yes." She stood and made her way down the aisle, pausing before the exit to steady herself for the onslaught. Then she stepped out onto the lowered steps and began to wave. _Does he think this is as silly as I do?_ she wondered. But she remembered the way he'd riveted his eyes on her during the Rome press conference, lending her his strength, his reassurance, and his love. Although her smile never wavered, the memory brought a painful tightness to her throat. She allowed herself one futile plea - _Oh God, why isn't he here? Why can't he be here?_ – before quickly shoving it aside. She would make him proud, even if he would never know it.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, she saw her mother and father waiting at the other end of the red carpet strip. She took a deep breath and began walking toward them, but before she could reach them her father broke into a run and met her halfway, enveloping her in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet as flashbulbs popped around them.

"Thank God," he whispered in her ear, his voice choked. "Thank God you're safe."

His affection didn't surprise her – it was how he'd always greeted her when he returned from his own travels – but his public display did. As they walked together to where her mother was waiting, she realized for the first time how worried her parents must have been.

"Welcome home, my dear." The queen's ice-colored eyes studied her daughter's face before she pulled her into a light embrace and quickly released her. "Come," she said as they turned to face the crowd once more. "You're not taking questions today."

On the ride home, the three of them were silent until Anne's father raised the glass between them and the driver. Then he turned to her and took her hand in his. "Are you sure you're quite well?"

"Yes."

"You're not…hurt?" His hesitation and tightening grip told her clearly how much fear and anxiety her disappearance had cost him.

"No, I'm f– " but she couldn't force out the lie. "I'm not hurt." As she released his hand she felt her mother's arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She didn't speak, just held her daughter tightly until they pulled to a stop in front of the palace. Anne sat stiffly, unsure how to respond to the kind of prolonged warmth her mother hadn't shown her since she was a child. As they climbed out of the car Anne braced herself for the quiet, measured words that would fix her failings indelibly on her soul. But the queen raised a gentle hand to her daughter's cheek, letting it linger there for a moment.

"I'll just…give you some time to settle back in, shall I?"

Caught off guard, Anne looked at her father for help. He shot her a glance that said _Sorry, love, you're on your own_ as he put his arm around his wife's waist. "All right," she said to her mother.

"We'll see you at dinner, then."

On reaching her suite, Anne dismissed the maids who were unpacking her luggage and looked around. _I hate this wallpaper,_ she thought as her gaze fell on the blue and white floral brocade pattern. The furniture wasn't much better. The antique mahogany pieces, some of which were upholstered the same shade of midnight blue as the wall, lent an oppressive darkness to the whole suite even in daylight. The rooms that had so often been her refuge from the ever-increasing burdens of the past few years now appeared strange and unwelcoming – as though they could give no quarter to the deserter she'd become.

After locking her door, she walked over to the bay window overlooking the lake. Nestling herself among the oversized cushions, she opened her handbag to get the pictures Irving gave her. She'd take one last look before she found them a permanent hiding place.

But they weren't in her bag.

_No, they have to be here,_ she thought. She was always so careful to put the envelope back in the small purse that had never left her side since she purchased it from a street vendor in Athens. She turned the bag upside down and shook it out on the window seat. Then she looked at her suitcases, forcing herself to think through the oncoming panic. The envelope had to be in one of them, although she had no memory of putting it there. She knelt in front of one of the bags and began tossing aside the neatly folded items of clothing. On she went from one piece of luggage to the next, surrounded by a growing pile of clothes and toiletries, until she unearthed the envelope from a zippered compartment in the last suitcase. She checked the contents, then rang for a servant.

The maid who answered her summons surveyed the mess on the floor. "Would Your Highness like some help?" she asked as she began to pick up Anne's discarded wardrobe.

"I want a fire. Quickly, if you please."

The maid laid the stack of clothes on Anne's bed. "Yes, ma'am."

"And send word I won't be down for dinner after all. I shall retire early this evening."

"Yes, ma'am."

Once the fire was built Anne knelt in front of the large stone hearth, envelope in hand. She couldn't afford any more mistakes – not for herself or for Joe. As she fed the photos one by one to the flames, her estrangement from the free, fun-loving girl they reflected was complete. Watching the images turn to ash, she was thankful her only pictures of Joe were in her memory. They would last a little longer before time did fire's work.

The blaze had almost spent itself when a knock sounded on the door. Unaware of how long she'd been staring into the embers, Anne was surprised to see the room in near-total darkness. She turned on the lights and unlocked her door, then seated herself at her desk and pretended to read one of the letters there. "Yes?"

"Your Highness? Their Majesties wish to speak with you."

It was an earlier end to the grace period than Anne expected, which meant her parents had learned at least some of the details of her escape. She followed the servant to the drawing room where her parents and James were waiting. _Of course,_ she thought. _Father's favorite bloodhound._

As soon as the servant shut the door behind them her father, who had been pacing by the fireplace, started toward her. "Anne, what can you possibly – " But the queen placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"You must be hungry, dear," she said to Anne. "Come and have tea with us." She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside her.

Anne hesitated as she looked at the tea service on the table and then back at her mother. _Tea,_ she thought. _As if this was just a pleasant catch-up chat. _She was hungry and the sight of her favorite scones and Earl Grey wasn't helping, but it all seemed a little too comfortable.

"No, thank you," she said as she sat down.

"How was your trip?"

"Very nice."

"I'm glad to hear it. We were concerned such a full schedule might have been too much for your first time alone, but you seem to have handled it quite well – notwithstanding your unfortunate indisposition." Anne smiled slightly but didn't answer, knowing the worst was yet to come and that her mother was in no hurry to get there. "I'm so sorry you didn't have more time to take in the sights," the queen continued. "The old cities are worth every moment you can give them."

"I'm sure they are."

"I always did love Rome. It's cruel, I think, to be indisposed in a place as beautiful as that."

"Yes. I wouldn't mind seeing it again someday."

"I hope you'll be favored with better luck than this time."

Anne thought of how differently she and her mother might define good luck. "As do I."

"But since we don't know when that will be," the queen continued, "perhaps you would be willing to show me your pictures in the meantime."

"My pictures?"

"The ones you were given at your press conference there. Professionally done, I understand. I'm sure they're excellent quality."

_Now we come to it,_ thought Anne. "They are. But I'm sorry to say I haven't been able to find them. I believe I must have mislaid them somewhere along my travel route." Anne saw her parents exchange glances as she spoke. "It's a shame," she said with a sigh. "Rome is, as you say, such a beautiful city." At this Anne saw her father nod at James, who left the room. _He's gone to search my suite,_ she thought. _Now the bloodhound's trail goes cold._

"I think I'll have some tea after all, Mother," she said, getting up to prepare it. "May I get you some?" But the queen, watching her daughter, didn't answer. _There it is at last,_ Anne thought as she saw her mother's look of disappointment. _Welcome home._

"Anne," said Philip, "I don't want to make this unpleasant. Before James returns, is there anything you want to tell us?"

"No," said Anne as she returned to the sofa with her tea.

"Nothing at all?"

"No."

Philip sighed. "He's searching your rooms as we speak. What is he going find there?"

"Nothing more scandalous than my unmentionables, in which I trust he has no interest."

Philip walked over and laid his hand on her head, much as he'd done when she was a child. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing the gesture could comfort her now as it did then. "If there is anything you fear from us," he said, "you need not. We only want to hear the truth."

"I don't – " She was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by James's entrance.

"Well?" asked Philip.

"Nothing, Your Majesty." James's eyes met Anne's as he spoke and she realized the embers in her fireplace had given him all the information he needed. She waited for him to voice his suspicions, but he was silent.

"Thank you," said Philip. "Begin the project we discussed." He waited until James was gone and turned to his daughter. "What happened in Rome?"

"I was indisposed."

"Yet you somehow found time to cavort with the American press and humiliate my security staff. A remarkable burst of energy, wasn't it, for someone as ill as you were." _Indeed it was,_ Anne thought as she recalled the triumph of slipping the noose. "Then again," Philip continued, "you must have had plenty of time to rest up. I'm sure your American friend was more than considerate in that respect."

"Philip, don't – "

"I most certainly will," he interrupted, glancing at his wife and then back to Anne. "Were you with him?"

Anne knew there was no cause for guilt – her time with Joe had been chaste enough – but her father's implication stirred memories that brought a sudden rush of heat to her face. "With whom?" she asked. Catching her mother's eye as she spoke, she saw the blush hadn't gone unnoticed.

"That reporter, the one you went to the barges with. Your Mr. Bradley." _As he was for a little while,_ Anne thought.

"Anne?" said her father. "I'm waiting." But she kept her silence and sipped her tea, watching as her father's growing anger battled his outward calm. "You cannot imagine," he finally said, "that after everything you put your mother and me through this past week, you have any right at all to refuse us what we ask. The daughter we raised is too smart a girl to believe that."

"Apparently not," said Alexandra as she fixed her gaze on Anne, "or she'd never have done anything as stupid and dangerous as running away in the first place."

"I wasn't in danger, Mother."

"A fact of which neither you nor we were aware until afterward. Your life and your reputation are not yours to toss away on a whim. You cannot act the way everyone else does just because you take it into your head to have a lark."

"And let's not forget you were in an unfamiliar city with no security detail," said Philip. "You have no idea how lucky you were. Do you care at all – does it bother you even a little – that your mother and I spent twenty-four hours not knowing if you were alive or dead, or God knows what else?" Anne debated pointing out this was one of the reasons she'd come back, but she knew in her parents' eyes her return could never atone for her departure.

Her father passed a hand over his eyes, seeming to search for his next words. "We sent you on this tour without us because we wanted the world to see you're ready to start assuming the responsibilities of a future ruler. We won't make that mistake again anytime soon. And you will never put your mother through another night like the one she spent praying to God you were alive and well instead of kidnapped or – " he stopped, and several moments passed before he spoke again.

"If you think I was hard on you before, just you wait. So help me, if I have to put a round-the-clock guard on you, I will. You won't even be able to go to the loo by yourself. Is that what you want?"

_What I want,_ Anne thought,_ is to get as far away from here as possible. To go someplace I have no name. To see whether reality can compare to my memories of him._ She set down her teacup and stood. "Place the guard if you wish, but it won't be necessary." She could see from her parents' expressions that they'd been expecting a protest. As she started to leave, her father's voice stopped her.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I have nothing to say, Papa." But the name she'd used for him since childhood no longer seemed to fit.

"How curious that you and your American friend should have that trait in common."

Anne froze, her hand on the doorknob. How did he know that? He couldn't, unless…

…Unless James had spoken with Joe himself. Slowly she turned to face her parents.

"For his sake," Philip continued, "you may want to reconsider."

"For his sake?"

"Whatever he may be to you, he's nothing but a potential information source to me. Suffice it to say he doesn't have the same protections you do."

Her father's words revealed him to Anne in a whole new light. Gone was the man whose love she'd never had to question, who had shielded her from her mother's impossible expectations, whom she'd always thought was the wisest and most principled person in the room. In his place was a ruthless adversary cunning enough to use his own daughter's feelings against her to vanquish her secrecy. She suspected that, instead of seeing a change in him, she was finally seeing him as he was – and she wondered how she could have missed it for so long.

"I don't want to hurt you, love, but you've made a choice not to help us," Philip said. "And choices have consequences, as every aspiring leader must learn."

_I never aspired to this,_ Anne thought_._ "So they do," she answered. "For example, if you choose to cause harm to an innocent man, then on the first day of my reign I will choose to issue a public apology to him on behalf of the Crown." As she spoke, her father's initial surprise was gradually replaced by a look Anne had seen only a few times in her life – one that had never been aimed at her until now. "And I'll ensure Mr. Bradley receives full recompense for whatever wrongs you do him. All of which might raise some interesting questions not only about the ethics of your rule, but also about my…indisposition."

Philip contemplated his daughter without a word. _Well done, my girl,_ his eyes seemed to say. _I see you're further along in your lessons than I thought._ Anne suppressed a smile at his evident recognition that she would now meet him on the field of battle as an equal. _One betrayal for another, _she thought.

"Would you give us a moment, dear?" asked Alexandra. "I need to speak with Anne in private."

"Yes," Philip answered, still looking at Anne. "Of course." He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Though she savored her victory, Anne knew from his parting glance that she'd won only the first round.

"Were you intimate with him?"

Not for the first time, Anne admired the efficiency with which her mother could humiliate her. "I wasn't intimate with anyone."

"Then I don't need to make any arrangements? There's not even the slightest chance you're…"

"Not the slightest."

Alexandra appraised her daughter for a moment, then nodded. "I believe you," she said. "But I think there's more to that story." Anne was silent as she held her mother's gaze, her anger keeping back the telltale blush. "You may have cowed your father with all your fine words," Alexandra continued, "but if I ever find out this man took advantage of you in any way, I promise you that no apology of yours will be able to help him."

_We'll see,_ thought Anne. But she knew from long experience that she had to choose her battles with her mother, and she was in no frame of mind for this one. So she decided to start with something easier. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"Are you really?" the queen asked, raising an eyebrow. "For what?"

"I know you were worried about me, and I regret that." Anne sighed. "But the truth is that I felt so confused after they gave me the drug that I wasn't sure – "

"What drug? What do you mean?"

"I'm sure they meant well. They were working so hard, just as I was – "

Alexandra took her daughter by the shoulders. "Tell me."

"I guess I was more tired than I thought after the ball, and I'm afraid I got a bit hysterical. The Countess and the Ambassador asked the doctor to give me a shot of something to calm me down." _Perfect,_ Anne thought as she saw her mother's eyes narrow. "I think they were just worried – "

"What did they give you?"

"I don't know. I asked the doctor, but he didn't tell me."

"You were drugged when you left the Embassy that night?" Anne nodded. "What happened after that?"

"I remember falling asleep, but then it gets a little hazy." It stopped being hazy at her first sight of the handsome, surly reporter whose wry amusement only encouraged her confidence, but she thought it best to keep the focus elsewhere. "Papa was right. I was…luckier than I knew." She paused, giving her mother time to get the inference, and felt tears sting her eyes as she thought of the strange luck that had brought Joe to her and taken him away in twenty-four hours. She fought through the instinct to run, to push the pain away, and instead turned it to her advantage, letting the tears linger just long enough for her mother to see them. Then she swiped at her cheeks and attempted a smile. The display was even more effective than she'd hoped.

"Oh, my girl," said Alexandra, taking Anne's face in her hands. "My precious girl. Do you understand now why we were so upset?" Anne nodded. "And you understand you can't do this again, Anne. Not ever. You can't put us through it."

"I won't."

"I want you to promise me."

"I give you my word, Mother."

"Thank you." Alexandra kissed Anne's forehead. "I suggest you get to bed. It's back to work for all of us tomorrow."

"I will. Good night."

"Good night, dear." Anne watched her mother leave, then turned to the tea service. She had some thinking to do, and tea and scones always went well with that.

* * *

><p>Philip looked up from his reading as his wife climbed into bed beside him. "I take it she survived the encounter?"<p>

"You know full well we weren't half as hard on her as she deserved."

"A deficit I trust you'll erase at your first opportunity."

Alexandra shook her head as she stared up at the crown molding above her. "I meant what I said earlier. I do want to give her some time."

"Why?"

"She's…different. She's changed somehow. I want to see how far that change goes, or whether she'll just – "

"Go back to normal? I'm not sure that's possible."

"Even if it were, I'm not sure she should." Alexandra turned on her side to face her husband. "She actually apologized to me for making us worry the way she did."

"She's never apologized for anything in her life."

"She never had much reason to, did she?"

Philip considered his daughter's unquestioning obedience over the years. "Maybe we should have seen it coming."

"Well, whatever it is, it's here now," said Alexandra. "And it brought with it a rather inconvenient infatuation."

Philip frowned. "I'd hoped I was wrong about that."

"It's the only possible explanation for her open defiance of you."

"As to that – she's right, of course. Nothing I say or do can bind her when she's queen. But we're not yet beyond recourse."

"I'm not sure tapping her phones and monitoring her mail will be enough this time."

"Which is why I asked James to do a bit of digging on our American interloper."

"You want to disillusion her."

"She only wants to protect him because she sees him as her tragic lost love. I intend to present her with a clearer view. "

"Good. And…" Alexandra paused, considering. "I think there's something else we can do. Not for a while yet, though."

"What do you have in mind?"

"We've gotten so many good offers lately. Last week's was one of the best I've seen yet. I think it's about time she started entertaining some of them."

"Agreed. She's almost twenty-five; it's getting a bit silly." Philip set his book on the nightstand. "I meant to ask you – what were you two talking about after I left?"

"I'm afraid I had to ask her if there was a chance she'd make us grandparents."

"Oh, good Lord," said Philip as he sat up. "I didn't even think – she didn't – she's not…?"

"She didn't."

"Thank God," Philip muttered as he sank back on the bed.

Alexandra started to turn over, then stopped. "I almost forgot. Will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"I want Dr. Bonnachoven fired."

"He's been with us for over thirty years. Why would I fire him?"

Alexandra laid her hand on Philip's cheek. "Because you trust that I have my reasons."

"All right, love." Philip turned to kiss his wife's palm. "Consider it done."

* * *

><p>To any of my previous readers who may be checking in on me – I thank you from the bottom of my heart for still caring about this story. Much more to come, and it should be faster since I ended up breaking this chapter in half.<p> 


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